The Pit
by DragonUk
Summary: The Pit is dark. My little take on what happens in 5.22. Here be spoilers!


**Summary:** The Pit is dark. My little take on the end of 5.22. Spoilers.  
**AN:** :o Unbeta'd, straight off the belt because I have and exam tomorrow and I'm way behind on studying. Unfortunately, this little bunny wouldn't go away so I had to get it down on paper/computer/whatever. Comments is love.

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**The Pit**

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* * *

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Michael is still wearing Adam, wearing him like some dress to a prom, but Sam can't find it in him to care anymore. He should have known that throwing Lucifer into the pit wouldn't stop things, not really – especially not since Michael came down for the ride.

Lucifer is gone, truly gone – obliterated in a flash of white light, leaving Sam with the feeling he's been burnt from the inside out – all hot and charred and so _worn_.

Michael's sword is still buried in his chest, and every so often the archangel glances over to him with something akin to regret in his eyes. The wound oozes sometimes – dollops of blood squeeze out from around the rim of the sword, Sam watched in fascination as his shirt sops up more of the life-fluid. It still hurts – the burning in his skull is now accompanied by the feverish burn of the wound. Typically, as the way things go with Sam's life, no _existence_, he can't die down here. But he can feel. He thinks about removing the weapon, but his body refuses to co-operate and he's left a prisoner inside the weakness of his own skin.

Michael is fussing, he's running his hands across the invisible boundary that keeps them in this place – where ever it is. Sam had envisioned fire and brimstone, walls of pain and torture and some kind of hell. It's just empty down here, a void of cold darkness. Except it's not cold, it's nothing. Sam things that had he been alone, had he been Lucifer, he'd have gone mad down here. Michael growls in frustration and Sam is thankful for the company.

"How long have we been down here?" Sam asks some time later. He's not sure of anything anymore. He doesn't feel hunger, doesn't notice the passing of time. Michael, Adam, frowns and Sam laughs. Michael doesn't have a fucking clue either.

* * *

He's dreaming. He must be. There's a breeze in his hair and his heart isn't pumping around the sword any more.

Sam's sitting in a library, of all things, a book on Egyptian mythology open in front of him. For some reason he's researching Anubis – except when he looks closely at the page, it's not Anubis – but an important looking man wearing a trench coat with a dog's head.

_Huh._ He snorts, smiling bemusedly as tiny little ants crawl around the desk.

There's something in the dog's face, a kind of intelligence that makes him hold his breath.

"Cas?" He asks, the words feeling unfamiliar on his tired tongue. The dog head barks at him, loud and shrill so that it startles Sam into slamming the book shut.

He can't find the page when he opens it again – and the ants begin to crawl along his hands and wrists – biting tiny chunks. It's alright though, it only tickles.

When he wakes Michael is fixating him with one of his murderous stares. Sam's use to them, they remind him of his father when he was seriously pissed off, and the furrowed brow? Totally a Dean look.

Yes. He's glad for the company.

* * *

"Want to play I spy?"

* * *

When he dreams again, he's sitting a maths test. His dad is sitting in the desk to his left, and Dean – fifteen year old Dean, is sitting to his right. They ignore him, which doesn't hurt as much as it should when Sam realises that their teacher is watching them. Can't cheat in a test.

Except the teacher isn't any maths teacher he's ever known. No, once again he's confronted with a trench coat wearing angel.

"Cas?" He winces at the tone of his voice, it's Sammy at eleven years old with his chubby face and fluctuating pimples.

"Sam."

"Why are you in my dream, man?" The words sound wrong, it's the most he's said since he fell into the pit.

Cas doesn't answer, just makes his way to the desk and takes Sam's paper.

"A year."

"What?"

"You've passed your math's exam, Congratulation's Samuel Winchester – you're a fully trained barber."

Sam's confused, and he has every intention of telling Cas that he didn't apply to be a barber, he wanted to be a lawyer, but the classroom shifts about him so quickly he's hanging onto his desk and his stomach is threatening to make an unwelcomed appearance.

* * *

When he wakes up – jarring awake so suddenly he manages to move and shift the blade in his chest so much he screams – Michael is no longer in the pit.

It's only Adam, whose sitting cross legged a few feet away and regarding him with cool eyes.

"He's gone on ahead. Let's go." Adam says, his voice breaks half way through – as if his throat is dry. The thought leads Sam to realise how desperately thirsty he is.

"I-I can't." Sam moans, the words vibrate through him, and the pain that shoots through his stomach is both horrible and wonderful – it's been a while since he's felt anything at all.

Adam stumbles to his feet, and Sam's reminded that he's been ridden for a long time, and grasps the silver handle with one hand, and Sam's arm with another.

"I'll help you." He says, hoarse, pulling the knife out with a single tug and pulling Sam to his feet with a second.

It was surprisingly painless, and for the first time on his feet, Sam can feel something. There's a gentle breeze on his forehead, it's cool against the sweat that's gathered there.

"Come on, it's time to go."

They walk into the darkness, leaning on eachother, there's no light anymore, Michael has provided the pitiful glow in the pit and now all they have to guide them is the sweet breeze that tastes like water and freedom. They don't talk, it seems like a waste of energy as the air get's fresher and Sam could swear he smelled something in the air. He didn't know what, but it spurred his useless legs to move faster. He's aware that Adam isn't fairing as well – even though it isn't he who has the hole in his chest.

"We're nearly there." He cries, or tires to, excitedly. "We're nearly there Adam. A few more. A few more steps."

And they can both see it now – there's a light, cliché, at the end of the tunnel and it looks beautiful.

He can touch it, if he reaches out his hand that's wrapped around his brother he could brush the glow with his fingers.

Adam is heaving, hacking away as if he's suffering from some sort of lung problem. Fear grips Sam, they've walked this far and he's determined they'll both leave the darkness.

"Adam. Adam listen to me." He pleads, shaking the hacking boy by the shoulders. Adam isn't looking at him anymore, his eyes are glazed over and he's staring over Sam's shoulder and into the night.

"Mom?" He wheezes, and with surprising strength he pushes Sam out of the way – stumbling into the light.

It's quiet in the pit, Sam decides to follow.

* * *

It's exactly a year after his death, not his first or even his second, but the third time, that he rises out of the pit.

It's night, the air smells of sulphur and rain – the sulphur is from his own clothes and the rain is from the sky which is weeping down upon him.

He never expected to feel again, the ground is sodden under his knees but he kneels in it anyway, running his fingers through the wildgrass like some kind of maniac.

"Sam."

The voice startles him, and he notices a pair of smart shoes infront of his nose.

"Cas?" He asks, wanting to rise but lacking the energy. "Am I dead? Cas?"

There's a hand on his shoulder, firm and comforting and he wants to lean into the touch.

"You're alive Sam. Welcome back."

"Do I get another chance?" He weeps, clinging onto the arm which is pulling him to his feet. "Do I get another shot?"

He can hear the smile in the angel's voice. "It's not another chance Sam, you never lost your last one."

There's something in those words, something freeing that makes Sam Winchester weep like a child.

* * *

"Dean? Where's Dean?" He asks sometime the next day, waking long enough to form a coherent sentence.

"Safe and doing as he promised."

"Good." He sighs, resting his head again. "Good."

* * *

"Adam? What happened to Adam?" He asks a few hours later, sitting on the edge of some motel room bed and stretching his unused muscles.

"Adam was raised from the dead, when he left the pit he was returned to his mother."

"He's dead again?"

"It was what he wished."

"Oh."

* * *

It takes him a week to feel anything close to normal, Castiel sticks around, not telling him much but not keeping anything from him when he asks. It's comforting, to have a friend so close. Cas seems to know how to keep him calm – Sam can't stand the dark anymore, he nearly fitted into a panic attack the first time the lights were turned off. He's also keeps forgetting to eat and drink – throwing himself into days of dehydration headaches until they figured it out.

"I don't know what to do now." Sam sighs – there's a duffel over his shoulder filled with things the angel thought he'd need, clothes, money, a fake identity.

" You can do anything you want Sam." Cas says, he's itching to leave, Sam can tell. He's a little worried about being left alone, he knows he's not quite right but he's grateful to the angel for sticking around.

"Can you take me to see Dean?" He finally asks, breaking his own rule. He's surprised when Cas' face breaks into a smile, a genuine one that he's learned to express from hanging around with Winchesters. It's comforting, to know that some divine power approves of his choice. "I won't stick around – I just want to see him."

"Of course."

There's a brief touch to his forehead, one he didn't even see since his gaze was firmly fixed to his shoes in shame.

But then he's standing outside of a house he recognises, and Cas is still with him – surprisingly.

He can see Dean through the window, sitting at the dinner table with a kid – just the way Sam had hoped he'd be. Lisa is pottering about the kitchen, there's a mouthwatering smell wafting through the window.

"Do you want to stay?" Castiel asks, resting a hand once again on Sam's shoulder.

"He has a family now." Sam replies, fighting to stop his voice from breaking, fighting to stop himself from breaking.

He hears the angel sigh, feels his shoulder being tugged until he's looking eye to eye with the holy tax accountant. Sam appreciates how human Castiel is now.

"Sam." Cas begins, lowing his hands. Sam feels as if a part of him is missing, the part that tethered him to the real world. He makes the mistake of blinking, loosing contact for a split second. When he opens his eyes again the angel is gone, leaving Sam in the street beneath a flickering street light that threatens to plunge the spot he's standing in into darkness. A cry of distress makes its way to his throat. He's alone. For the first time since the pit, he's alone and it's _dark_.

There's another sigh, this time it's directed to his right ear – Sam swivels so quickly his bag drops to the ground. "You _are_ his family."

* * *

Sam knocks.

* * *

Dean answers.

* * *

The End.


End file.
